


fuchsia

by c8kp



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Draco Malfoy Speaks French, Dreams, Humor, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, Slow Build, pansy and blaise, they’re background characters tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-19 06:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29622141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c8kp/pseuds/c8kp
Summary: In which Harry dreams of Draco Malfoy each night in a sensual way. A fuchsia rose is brought to him anonymously every morning and Harry finds himself slowly falling in love with the man in his dreams and the roses he collects.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 13
Kudos: 22





	1. fever dream

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Thank you for choosing to read. This fanfic was originally posted on Wattpad by the user ‘pwrtty’ which is me. If you’d prefer to read it on there feel free to go and give it some love. Happy reading!

On the home front, Spring is sugarcoated to be nothing more than a few months of pretty flowers and allergies. For it's true, many trees are blossoming and early flowers are flourishing. 

Looking in at deeper nature however, Spring is often described to bring rebirth, renewal and awakening; because it is just like any other season, any other day, or any other year. It is unpredictable, but also enhancing. We cannot predict a day in our lives, so why must Spring? 

These thoughts were embroidered into Harry's head, and he ceased to write them down into his journal. 

It's a warm day, and there sat the only Saviour of the Wizarding World, tracing the letters of which he had been writing with prosperity. 

The fields were a parsley green. They were tall, licking at his ankles as the bright gleam of the sun illuminated other blooms and buds that scattered the meadow outside of Hogwarts. It was very similar to canola fields, despite them coloured as green — rather than golden. 

It was quiet. Too quiet. 

Despite the atrocities that Harry'd faced ever since he was a young boy, he wasn't used to the serenity of peace and quiet. Always used to someone telling him what to do and when to do it, chastising him about how he should live. Harry felt like he was slowing ceasing to life. Fading throughout the Earth's core every day he was forced to live as the 'Chosen One.' 

It sounded almost cretinous, yes, but Harry felt like a small broken and beat toy that had been exploited from an abusive owner. In a sense, however, that was correct. 

Even though others had told him he was perfectly fine, he realised people didn't really know all that much. 

Sometimes he would feel pained, inexplicably, because he was truly living in nothing more than a fragment of life. Everything for him always seemed to crash and burn. 

But today was different. And for once in his life, he genuinely felt okay. So okay that he didn't even feel bothered by the wind pushing his hair in front of his face. 

Nor did he notice the tall figure that stood before him.

As his eyes slowly trailed up, he grew confused. He was almost certain he was alone, but it was almost as if the person (who was now holding out there hand for him to take) were anonymous. It was as if the sun was purposely shined brighter to mask the persons' face. All Harry could do was squint. 

The mysterious pale hand gestured forward, still awaiting for his movement. Feeling gullible, Harry frowned and took it. The hand hauled him up. At a standing angle, the face now became clear, and Harry's eyes widened and his breath hitched.

Gleaming in the sunlight, the intimate face of Draco Malfoy stood before him, smiling. His white-blond hair was oddly un-slicked or un-gelled, and it was blowing leisurely in the wind. His cheeks and nose were rosy from the crisp and he was clad in charcoal grey wool that looked extremely soft. In fact, Harry was so up close he could smell a mixture of mahogany, French cologne, and vanilla. 

Harry dropped his journal in shock, and the pages were now flicking open due to the wind. Harry wished he had his wand. Who knew what Malfoy was up to? 

"What the bloody hell are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry spat with as much venom as he could muster. He took a few steps back; however still in close proximity with the blonde.

Malfoy chuckled.

"Come on now, there's no need for that. I wanted to show you something." he replied cooly as he reached for Harry's hand once again.

Harry immediately shoved his arm away, scowling.

"What are you playing at, Malfoy?" Harry pressed. 

Malfoy raised his eyebrow, and Harry picked up what seemed to be amusement and uncertainty on his pale face. 

"Malfoy again, eh? And I could assure that yesterday you had called me by first name. I wasn't aware that we were back to surnames." he chuckled. 

Harry looked at him like he had just seen a centaur. Yesterday? That couldn't be right, yesterday he had spent the day with Ron and Hermione! And he and Malfoy had never once engaged in a civil conversation. 

Was he going mad? 

Harry stood there, frozen as if someone had jinxed him. Malfoy smirked, clasping his hand in Harry's before he could protest. 

"Well come on then, Potter," Malfoy mused. "I still have something I want to show you regardless." he said as he tugged Harry forward. 

A million different thoughts ran through the Gryffindor's head. Maybe he was having some odd nightmare, because Potter and Malfoy were not friends, and they most certainly weren't nice to each other. 

"Well then, are you coming?" Malfoy asked, in which caused Harry to snap back into reality. (If this even was reality)

Maybe if Harry just played along, this odd nightmare would be over. 

"Y—Yes." he stuttered as they began to walk, hand in hand.

"You really are relentless sometimes, did you know?" Malfoy smiled. Not a smirk, but a genuine soft smile like he actually was enjoying himself. 

"And you're a prick, did you know?" Harry mused. "Then again, that's the only thing you get around by. What a blessing," he said, giving him a smile dripping with sarcasm.

Malfoy pressed his lips to Harry's ear. "Oh, don't you patronize me." 

This really, really, wasn't fucking normal. But then again, a part of Harry was curious. Was this how Malfoy was when he wasn't putting on such a hard front? He hated to admit it, but so far, Malfoy had been rather pleasant. 

"Name calling. Always been the alternative motive for you, hasn't it Scarface?" Malfoy quipped. He tugged Harry forward, pushing away some bushes to make a pathway.

"Where are you taking—" However all was interrupted when he made a clearing in the thicket. Deep in the meadow lay a beautiful alcove, with trees surrounding and the scent of sweet roses filling the air. 

"Where are we?" Harry asked, mesmerized.

The blonde rubbed circles on the back of Harry's hand before letting go.

"I often come here alone to read. No one really knows about this place... but I wanted to share it with you. I couldn't help but pity that I found you today sitting on literal dirt." 

"Alone?" Harry smirked. "That's unusual. You're never alone. Those little — or should I say big friends of yours. They're always by your side because you don't know how to fight for yourself." Little coward: He wanted to add.

Malfoy quirked his eyebrows, still smiling — however the menacing glint in his eyes had appeared. "At least I'm not a third wheel; I've seen the way the weasel and the mud —Granger look at each other. Pathetic really."

"At least I can play Quidditch properly!" 

"Bollocks, Potter, I have a faster racing broom than you and you know it! Got plenty of special features, hasn't it?" he drawled.

"Hm, it's a pity yours doesn't come attached with an extra arm. Maybe then, you'd actually be able to catch the snitch!" 

Expecting Malfoy to take offense or snap back, Harry braced himself, but the insult never came. And Malfoy was laughing. Again. 

"Circe, Potter, you belong in Slytherin — I swear it. You act like one more and more each and everyday." 

The blonde went in to ruffle Harry's hair, in which Harry oddly didn't protest about. 

"The sorting hat almost put me in Slytherin," he blurted. 

The blonde boy scoffed. "Like I'm going to believe that, Potty. Don't be daft." 

"I'm serious!" Harry quipped in response. "I asked it to put me in Gryffindor."

Malfoy's eyes widened in shock. "No shit!" An amazed look loomed on his pale face. "Why didn't you accept? That would've been wicked!" 

"Maybe if you weren't such an insolent git, I would've considered it." he replied, but when Malfoy didn't say anything back, he closed his mouth in contemplation. 

"I'm sorry," he began with a solemn face, glancing at the ground and squinting his eyes. "I was a git. I—I was jealous." 

This time, Harry's eyes were the ones to widen. 

Did Draco Malfoy just apologise? 

Harry wanted to speak up, desperately say something to break the silence because something obviously wasn't right and this surely want normal behavior between the two, but he couldn't find the right words to say. 

"Cat got your tongue, or is it me?" Malfoy smirked, beginning to close the distance. 

And Harry clearly couldn't think straight with Malfoy doing that. 

But he felt like he really couldn't say anything, like his mouth had been sealed shut and he was frozen and rigid. Malfoy was so close, and all he could do was close his eyes as Malfoy...

"H—Hey! Malfoy, what're you— put me down!" Harry shrieked. The blonde had picked him up bridal style. 

"Do you see that heap of leaves? I'm going to throw you in it. Surely you won't die, you're the Chosen One!" he bellowed as he surged toward the pile. 

"Draco no—"

"Draco yes."

"Malfoy you better not—" 

But it's too late. Malfoy turns the Gryffindor backward and drops him effortlessly. The next thing Harry knew, he was in a pile of leaves and grass. Right on cue, Malfoy roared with laughter above him. 

See, when things turn you in life, they don't always happen at once. You have to understand what's going on, and it often comes by in a blur, or a few seconds. You have to see through bit by bit until you understand what your next motive should be. 

And with a malicious grin, Harry knew exactly what to do.

"Dear, would you care to help me up?" Harry asked innocently, sticking out his hand waiting for Malfoy to fall right into his trap. It was a game he was playing. 

Malfoy gave him an amused look before clasping onto Harry's hand; instantly regretting it as Harry pulled him right it in with him. Now, he was the only cackling. 

"You bloody wanker! Look what you've done to my hair!" 

That only made Harry laugh harder, before he pulled both him and Malfoy out of the leaves. 

"What can I say? Karma's a bitch." Harry said smugly. 

"I should've known you'd pull a move like that. You can be so unpredictably cunning. Like I said, you belong with us." Malfoy said. "Now budge over, trouble. I have something for you."

Malfoy's hands were behind his back, clearly hiding the mystery. Harry couldn't help but feel intrigued as Malfoy pulled out a slender rose, just the colour of fuchsia. Everything about the pink tinge was mesmerizingly alluring. 

Biting his bottom lip, Harry takes it. By now, his heart isn't just beating. It's hammering. 

"It's beautiful. Thank you," Harry says. He can't quite put his finger on how he's feeling at the moment but almost as if programmed within him — it's arduous to look at Malfoy as the enemy. 

And before you could say 'Quidditch,' Malfoy's lips were on his own...

━━━━━━━━━━━

He awakes to drizzling rain next to the large windowsill of the Gryffindor dormitories and a bird belting out her feathery blues. He's nestled beneath his duvet of thick feather down blankets. Despite Ron's light snores; the reposeful composure of his shared dorm appear as soft as the fleece of a young lamb, and the bags under Harry's tired eyelids are almost as weighty as a sack of sand. The entry to his realisation seamless, nearly imperceptible. 

Harry finds himself tossing and turning for quite a while, still trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with him. Both awareness and consciousness unravels like a ball of loosely wrapped yarn. He slips the shiny silk sheets over his head and tries desperately to ease both the pounding of his head and heart. He'd seen a lot in his days, but this was something else. 

Going back to sleep is merely impossible in this moment. So, he decides to leg it. He'll figure it out in the morning. As it could be as he's dreaming of himself again — dreaming that is.

It had obviously just been a fever dream. Besides, why would he ever dream of Malfoy in that manner?


	2. consciousness

Harry is conscious. He is aware of his surroundings, however even time will admit that he cannot quite contemplate if the feelings he felt the previous night were accurate. He felt he had very little control. His head is spinning and pounding like a small wall clock. 

The feeling was uncanny. Every time he tried to think clearly his head would envision soft pink lips and white hair and delicate grey eyes along with the smell of honey. He felt alone and angry and robbed. He felt like there was something missing from him, but also given. 

And here Harry is seated on the loveseat, merely in the Gryffindor common room. He stirs, watching as his teaspoon acts as a magic wand spinning the dark bitter taste of black tea into brown canola. If he'd bother to look outside, it's nearly dusk. The trees cover the sun falling into the horizon as the sky begins to form a purple tinge. 

Hermione turns to him, the water in the kettle still lukewarm. Hermione wasn't much of the observant type when it came to her friends, but one look at Harry she could tell he was brooding by a simple act of tea-stirring. Has he had a bad dream? Harry? She tries to remember the last time Harry came running down from a dream about Voldemort, but the mood Harry is in... it's a different type of grief. She can't recall anything. 

"Harry?" she calls.

But there is no response. Harry looks down at his tea as if it's the most riveting thing in the world. 

There was something missing from him, but also given. 

"Harry..." a soft, delicate voice (in more of a purr) is heard next to him, but Harry feels trapped. He begins to shake as the solemn words thump into his head. Louder. Louder.

"Harry you—"Again. But the voice is now a plea. He can't breathe. His hands are in his hair. Who is talking to him?

Harry no longer feels conscious. His breathing becomes erratic and is coming out in shallow bursts. It feels like the worst panic attack he's ever had. Now he is trembling. He closes his eyes. He wants to dig a hole and climb in. 

There was something missing from him, but also given.

There is a ringing in his ear. 

"Harry Potter you look at me!" The voice snaps, and Harry's eyes surge up. Hermione is looking at him. He spills his tea and curses, trying to wipe the damp away from his pants. 

Hermione gives him a fragile but menacing look. 

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong? You're awfully warm. Do you need the hospital wing? If it's... You-Know-Who you can tell me," she says sympathetically and reaches to stroke his hand. But now that she has Harry's attention, it's hard to concentrate. 

Come to think of it, he had no idea what was worse. Dreaming of being tortured by Voldemort via nightmares or dreaming of his school nemesis in a... sensual way? 

But that was hard to determine, because Harry had appeared to be content and jovial in the dream, like he had lost control... but also had control. It was infuriating how he let his dreams mess with him so adequately. 

There was something missing from him, but also given.

But what the hell was missing? What was given?

And he realised Hermione was still watching him. Harry wants to speak, but he can't find the words to do so. She sighs, reaching for the kettle and groping around it to pour more hot water on to her tea bag. Just as Harry tries to put how he's feeling in words, Hermione is speaking again about how his life holds no more surprises, no unplumbed martial depths. 

"If a nightmare's the case," she pauses to unclench as Harry's eyes are atent to the warm water. "you could've come to me, or Ron. Or Pomfrey. Dreamless sleep potions are easy to compel. It's rather simple." Hermione says with a strangely casual voice. She reaches to pop a tart in her mouth.

Harry grumbles and leans his head back to look up at the tall ceiling. 

"Hermione, whatever this is it's not simple." he says. 

Hermione doesn't seem to understand, but perhaps others do not understand because not enough people listen. 

"Then help me to understand."

Harry desperately wanted to tell her; to let all of his emotions (from not just the dream) pour and interlock in form of a civil conversation, but he was insecure and uncertain. People would say they know him, but only in his own façade. He'd come to the conclusion that people don't really know him at all. 

So Harry didn't tell her. 

He shook his head, yawning and stretching. 

"It's fine, 'Mione. I'm certain it's the drowsiness making me crazy. I think I'll turn in. Goodnight." Harry says before she can protest. 

━━━━━━━━━━━

Harry never knew how long the stairway to the Gryffindor dormitories could be until now, but perhaps it was just giving him more time to think. The taste of bitter tea was still at the back of his throat as he stomped up the stairs in anguish. There really is a sense of something looming. Why should this happen now?

And again, the words play at Harry's head; spinning in his mind like a miniature antique carousel. 

There was something missing from him, but also given. 

He is now further up the stairway. 

Something missing. But also given. 

When he reaches the door into the boys' dorm, there is a single, fuchsia rose. It is sealed with a spell and latched to his doorway. It's almost florescent in the moonlight. The rose smells sickly sweet. Harry's jaw drops.

Something given.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are love! <3


	3. euphoria

Eyes prick open. He rubs them lazily and licks the end of his fingertip to turn the page of Romeo and Juliet. There is a singular stone hinge that acts as a bench in the middle of the alcove that Harry is sitting on. By now, he can't tell what's what anymore. If this even is his own reality or if he's only here because of mere whim. It's like things are now played out, and Harry can't 'not' choose to do something because it is already happening.

Goosebumps showered the Gryffindors' arms — however he couldn't contemplate if it was from nerves or the slight chill of the Spring sun. 

He tries to shake these thoughts from his head and go back to enjoying his book — but as if it's almost a cliche distraction, there is a Sparrow sitting right next to him. Tweeting — calling to get his attention. 

"Shoo, go on," Harry urges; jerking his hand in it's direction. But the bird just stares at him. He tries again, but it doesn't seem to take a hint. 

That is until, it flies onto his head, and Harry decides he's had enough. 

He tries to whap it away with his book, careful not to destroy the fragile binding. Harry has no idea why a singular Sparrow is angering him so much but it just seems as though he can't control his temper nowadays. 

"Go away little bird! I haven't got any food for you," he urged as the tiny bird was now fluttering around him, tweeting in every-which direction as a hummingbird until it finally flew back into a tree. 

"Golden Boy playing amongst the Pigeons?" a snarky voice came above him.

"Looks like it," Harry said reluctantly. "but it's not just that." 

They were out here. Alone, Harry supposed. So what would be the harm in being a little honest? If Draco laughed at him, he could laugh straight back. It would be fine. 

"I felt fatigued. I just needed to get away from everything for a while. You were right, this is a good place to read. The scenery's immaculate." 

"And your friends let you go out – alone?" Draco's voice was dripping with sarcasm. He leant down to give Harry another rose, in which he gradually accepted. 

"I told them I needed time for myself. I love them — it's just they've been... getting on my nerves lately to be honest." he said truthfully. 

"Finally, you see it too," Draco said with a small scoff.

"I don't know. Everything's just been pissing me off," Harry said, stopping to notice the wrinkle in Malfoy's nose. 

"What?" 

"Do you really have to sound like such a muggle, Potter?" he mused. 

Harry shrugged. 

"Lived with them long enough." he muttered. 

Deep down, it was hard to believe that Harry was being this honest, but Draco seemed to be making more logical sense than anyone else he had been talking to. Almost as if he was the only one who understood him. 

"Yet you still worship Dumbledore. Pity," the blonde sighed, leaning his chin to rest on Harry's head. Draco looked down in curiosity at Harry's book.

Harry hummed. He couldn't even recall the last time he'd spoken to Dumbledore. Harry blinked and turned to Draco. He stared back, one eyebrow slightly quirked as if waiting for a challenge. A retort or an argument. But nothing came. There was no menacing glint in his grey eyes. Not the one Harry was used to. He had rather grown attached to this other side of Draco.

Draco only smiled at him when their eyes locked, and he pressed his fingertip down on Harry's forehead to trace the scar. 

"So if that's what's got you 'pissed', what's obliged you to read Shakespeare?" he asked.

Harry eyes widened in surprise, but he still smiled. "How did you know?" 

The blonde smirked. 

"Please, Potter. It's not that difficult to tell," he said, flipping to the cover of the book. "just because I'm pureblooded doesn't mean I'm entirely clueless about the muggle world." 

Harry snorted. 

"Yet that's your consumption for bragging? Kind of low, Malfoy. Wouldn't you think?" Harry teased. 

Draco cocked his head; one eyebrow still raised in amusement. 

"Bit of a wordy comeback, don't you think, trouble?" he grinned. Harry flushed. Only Malfoy could stir these growing emotions within him. 

Draco circled him, and grabbed both of Harry's forearms with a strong grip, pulling him up. 

"Malfoy — if you throw me in a pile of filth again I will hex you until you can't walk for a week, and then I will throw you off the Astronomy Tower for good measure." 

"Is that so?" Draco purred. "I like this new, rebellious Chosen One." 

Harry inwardly groaned. 

"You know I came here to forget about all that crap," and it was true. Harry felt resentful of whom he'd grown to be. 

"Relax, Scarface. That's why I got these." Malfoy replied, holding out two broomsticks.

"My Firebolt!" Harry beamed. He had never had such a great mood swing. "How did you get those?" 

"Being a Prefect has its perks. Come on, trouble. You're not a princess. I won't hold it for you." Draco says, his pale eyes glimmering. He tossed Harry his broom and without wasting another second, they both took to the sky. 

Harry had forgotten how fast his Firebolt was in comparison to Draco's Nimbus, but surprisingly he still kept up with him just fine. They raced through the trees and across the black lake; doing their best to lay low so no one would see. Harry hadn't felt this kind of euphoria in a long time. He loved the sensation of wind in his hair and the scenic exterior of Hogwarts. 

And just like that, they were both back in the alcove, laying together and looking up. Harry hadn't realized how big and blue the sky was until now. The sky began to set and if you'd just bother to look close enough — stars were twinkling throughout the blue. He was happy. And for once in his life, he actually felt safe. 

And as the birds sang and the trees swayed back and forth like a kaleidoscope, hands were reaching out to grab Harry's face. Harry flushed, but smiled as Draco wiped some of his fringe out of his forehead, and leant down to press a kiss on his jaw, then on his lips. 

"Harry Potter, I am going to give you the stars if it means you can be happy again." 

━━━━━━━━━━━

This time, when Harry awakes, his heart his thumping. And for the benefit of the doubt, he realises it wasn't just a fever dream. It happened again. He takes the initiative to focus on something as he yanks the heavy duvet from over his body. (which is by now breathing for air)

He focuses on the dust particles from the sunlight gleaming through the window. Ron is nowhere to be found, but it appears as if no one is. No Dean. No Seamus. God forbid he overslept, but surely Hermione wouldn't bother to let him anyway.

And then he realises that it is in fact Saturday. 

With grogginess, he reaches for his glasses, however grabbing something prickly from the nightstand. 

"Ouch!" 

He manages to grab his glasses, leaving them askew on his face, and when he looks; it's another rose.

Fuchsia. Given to him again.


	4. irrational

Monday.

All Harry wants is to be left alone, but as always it seems the little things he asks for are left extraneous. And he doesn't know how to cope with how he is feeling. Each morning he wakes up, there is another rose awaiting for him — hidden and concealed somewhere in his dorm. Sometimes it's hidden more intricately as if it's incognito. 

And each time he'd find one, he'd put it in a small, waterlogged vase, so now it was sitting by the windowsill of the small sitting room of the boys' dormitory. There were now four pink roses. 

Obviously, someone is doing this to play with his head and mess with him, because the rose is the exact same in the dreams with Malfoy. Besides, that would be the most impractical coincidence ever, right? But he still couldn't help feeling intrigued, and he still collected each of them anyway, though he didn't know where they were coming from and who the sender was. What owl could possibly fly through his window without making a racket? 

There is no physical or logical way that Malfoy is sending him roses like some school girl crush. Right? Because that's just — irrational. 

"Potter's losing truly losing it. He's going berserk!" someone sniggered behind him. He was starting to agree with them. In what universe did Harry Potter think so much of Draco Malfoy? 

As the new staircase slid into place, he carried on, still unsure of where he was going or what he was trying to accomplish, so he settled his mind on trying to get to class on time — only just remembering he had a free period. So no longer was he 'Harry Potter; Saviour of the Wizarding World', but 'Harry Potter; The boy whose actually gone berserk from roses and a pale-faced ferret who simply can't remember his school schedule. 

Bloody brilliant! 

And now he stood around the busy corridor like some lost first year, desperately trying to calm an upcoming headache. He was not introspective by nature, but on his walk to desperately head back to the common room, he found himself wondering what exactly galvanized his decisions. 

Something missing, but also given. 

Shut up shut up shut up! 

Surely, he had more important things to worry about. Like Voldemort and how Dumbledore was seemingly banished from school by the Minister. Not his rapid euphoric dreams about Draco. Not about whether he should continue collecting roses to vase. Not about what kissing a certain Slytherin— OH GOD. He shook his head to try to clear the thoughts.

"Alright there, Potter? Trying to rid yourself of voices?" 

He looked up. It was Blaise Zabini. Of course, it was. A grouping of snakes. Blaise, Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle and – and Draco Malfoy. Harry's stomach gave an odd flip, like he was nervous. Malfoy was staring at him with those pale eyes. His eyebrows knitted together. Harry couldn't tell if it was from concern or irritation.

Harry had to say something immediately — however a retort died on his tongue as Malfoy gave him a small wolffish smirk from his silence. 

Harry really couldn't afford getting into a fight. 

"He's dense. Just like all of those Gryffindorks,' he's just the worst of em.'" he heard Pansy say. She was glancing at Malfoy — slightly elbowing him to add onto the onslaught of insults. Harry's hands became almost clammy as the current sitch he was in was starting to form a small crowd. 

Harry had to say something, fast. 

"Go fuck yourself, Parkinson." he uttered, clearly under pressure. Yeah, that would show them. Good one Harry. 

He felt like an idiot. The edges of Malfoy's mouth twisted upwards.

Harry's throat went dry and his cheeks went red as he tried to ignore Malfoy staring at him with amusement and Pansy's shrill laughter at his pathetic response. He wanted to pitch himself off the Astronomy Tower immediately. 

"Oh darling. Unlike you, I have others to take care of that for me," she winked at Zabini as Crabbe and Goyle were sniggering from behind. "you were right, Blaise. Our saviour really is going mad." 

And Malfoy never took his eyes off him. Not once. 

Harry shot them all a glare before spinning around to leave. He felt aggravated. Immensely. He wanted to rip out his insides to turn them inside-out if it helped with the embarrassment. He was really letting everything get on his nerves these days. 

"Potter!" 

Harry kept walking.

"Potter, you barbarian, over here!" 

Harry turned around, although immediately wishing he hadn't, because there Draco Malfoy stood right in front of him. And this wasn't a dream. It was real life. He even pinched himself to clarify. He was becoming awfully hot but tried to stay calm under the current circumstances. 

"Back for more, Malfoy? Here to taunt me again? Or is it because your friends are tired of hearing about your exasperating daddy issues? Come to complain about it to me?" Harry snarled. Hopefully that was good enough. 

He expected Malfoy to snap back, even hit him — but instead he look... impressed? 

One eyebrow raised, Malfoy snorted. "Bit of a wordy comeback, wouldn't you say so?"

Wait a minute... he could've sworn he heard that somewhere. 

But it was too late to think. Not with Malfoy who had hauled him against the wall. 

"Do you need something, Malfoy?" he muttered tiredly. 

The blonde shrugged. 

"Maybe I just wanted to talk to you. Ever consider that, Potter?" 

"Uh, what?" In the drama of the moment, he had forgotten what Malfoy had even said.

Malfoy gave a breathy laugh. "Mon Dieu, Potter. It truly astounds me how you manage to solve so many mysteries yet you still avoid the obvious. Here, you dropped your books." 

Harry took them with hesitation — not once taking his eyes off Malfoy. It made that nervous feeling in his stomach return. 

"Why are you — I mean — you hate me, Malfoy." 

"I most certainly do not!" he scoffed. Harry shivered as Malfoy leaned down to whisper at him. "If I hated you, Potter, I would just ignore you." 

And then he was gone. Disappearing into the next corridor in which many students flooded leaving Harry to see only his white-blond head trailing away. His heartbeat is erratic as he tries to puzzle together what Malfoy said. The weird feelings he'd been having lately surely meant something. It wasn't even lately. He could remember those pangs of nerves from third year, too. He had put it down to hate and fear or nerves of confrontation, but now it seemed irrational as well. 

"If I hated you, Potter, I would just ignore you." 

There was something in his one of his books that was bulging. Earnestly, he went to open it — it seemed to feel like a bookmark, however it was much thicker and pointier. 

There, left in his school textbook was indeed, another rose.


	5. mon amour

Draco leans down to kiss him. 

As usual, it's bright outside. They were laying on the grass with their bodies intertwined; Harry on the bottom and Draco on the top. The sun shines through Draco's hair, illuminating the white-blond colour and his intense gaze. His skin was pale like porcelain and glassy with the light, making him look almost angelic. His grey eyes seem to be shining with both love and lust as Harry looks deep into them. They are an abyss of silver, shades of metallic and mercury in which it's almost unreal. By now, Draco isn't just staring at him — but looking at him zealously as if he withholds all the answers to the universe. All Harry can do is smile like an idiot.

"Vous êtes belle," he murmurs as he kisses him. "magnifique," he presses another kiss on his forehead and under his ear."mine," Draco trails away, now nosing at the base of his neck to form a love bite. It takes Harry a moment to figure out that Draco is speaking French, which is now doing odd things to his stomach. He's never heard him speak such a beautiful and distinctive language. 

"Draco —"

But he silences Harry by closing the gap between them once again; catching him off-guard. But it's not as if he's complaining. 

"Shh," he whispers almost inaudibly, pulling away ever so slightly. Harry frowns and looks up at him. Draco's hot breath is on his cheeks and as he whispers again. "don't talk, just feel." 

And again he's leaning back down to kiss him, but Harry meets him halfway. His nose bumps against Draco's in effort to find his mouth as his eyes are still closed. Harry's hands found Draco's shoulders; loving the way the felt under his fingertips and sighing in content as Draco rested his hands on Harry's hips. There was a fire in Harry's chest, and he's never wanted to do something more than to kiss his former enemy. 

"Je t'aime." Draco says, almost as if he's forbidden to say the words in the English language. His face reddens and Harry's heart swells whilst he runs his fingers through the silky blonde hair. 

━━━━━━━━━━━

Someone is poking at his arm. 

Ouch. 

They're not doing it very gently. 

Ouch!

Why won't they stop? 

Harry stirs. He rubs his arm as if it had been impaled. He curses and his eyes shoot open —only to make direct contact with Ron Weasley. His red hair is messily in front of his face like a curtain and he's clad in a maroon knit sweater with his initials along with pajama bottoms and bunny slippers. He is holding open the crimson Gryffindor drapes of Harry's four poster bed and in his other hand is a half eaten biscuit. There are crumbs on the corners of his mouth that almost match with his freckles. 

"Harry, wake up, mate! Mails here!" his best friend urges; tugging at his arm in attempt to get him out of bed. Harry groans before rubbing the sleepiness away from his eyes as he crawled out of bed. Ron gave him a knowing look. 

"What?" he asked. 

"Your face is flushed," he wiggles his eyebrows and Harry gulps uneasily. "did you dream about a girl?" 

Harry plays it off with a yawn. "Sure, Ron." he says in his best wide-awake voice.

The dreams are almost like visions. They all seem so realistic despite the fact that Harry has never witnessed the blonde act the way he does. But it all comes back in his head, almost as if it's engraved. 'If I hated you, Potter, I would just ignore you.' He hadn't even noticed the lack of insults and retorts Malfoy had fired at him until recently — but then again, he could be rather oblivious. 

And he still found the rose in his textbook. The same fuchsia one as always. Could Malfoy had gave him that? He glanced at the vase sitting on his nightstand where all six roses were submerged in water. It couldn't possibly be Draco sending him roses. He couldn't be that ignorant. Surely someone else was sending them, right? 

"It truly astounds me how you manage to solve so many mysteries yet you still avoid the obvious." 

But what was obvious? What was given and what was missing? Ever since his little episode with the very first dream he'd had, Hermione had left him alone. But he still couldn't piece the puzzle together. 

"About that mail?"

Ron nodded, pulling Harry up as he went to open the window. Pigwidgeon, (Ron's owl) crashed through the window as both Ron and Harry gave it a look of pity. After a few moments, his owl flew back up from below to drop Ron's envelop in his hand before clumsily flying away. 

"What is it?" Harry asked, veering out of the way to look behind Ron's shoulder. 

He shrugged pilantly. "Just another letter from mum. I'll open this elsewhere so her voice doesn't wake up the whole dorm," he said jokingly and left the bedroom as Harry gave a breathy laugh. 

He was startled by another rapping at his window, before Harry's eyes lit up and Hedwig flew in to drop his mail onto a nightstand. He ran his hand through her feathers affectionately as he stopped his breath hitched at the sight before him.

Another rose was given. And this time, it had a small piece of parchment attached to it that Harry ripped off to read. He had to squint without his glasses. 

'Mon amour' it said. 

He remembered Draco speaking French not only in his dream, but in the corridor as well. 'Mon Dieu', he had said. 

There went that familiar pang in his heart again. 

And he planned. From this day forth, he would find out if Malfoy had really been the one sending him roses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave some Kudos and share. :)


	6. confessions

The days passed, and to Harry's dismay, he couldn't seem to find Malfoy doing anything out of the ordinary. However, his vase had become so full of roses that water had begun to spill out. But on the brightside, it did make his room smell a whole lot nicer. 

Sitting in the Gryffindor common room with his two best friends, Harry stared down at the blazing fire. It was a scarlet colour, fierce and almost maniacal, intense and yet chaste. Hermione was making tea yet again, pouring down the kettle and soaking her tea bag before stirring it around. 

"Are you going to tell Hermione about the rose?" Ron asked, breaching the comfortable silence. Hermione looked up with wrinkled brows. She usually didn't let things like this concern her. 

"Rose? What rose?" she asked, blowing the steam away from her Chamomile. It had obviously occurred to her of Harry's distress —but with that sense of brilliant revelation the obvious can bring — Harry had not once mentioned anything about a rose. Then again, she hadn't been able to get much out of Harry the day he was brooding — for whatever reason — she didn't know. 

Harry gave Ron a deadly glare before turning to Hermione and sighing. "You weren't supposed to know — no one is — but I've been receiving roses quite frankly every morning. Do you remember when we sat here together? Just the two of us? You were making tea. Just like now. Surely you remember." 

Hermione gave a curt nod. "Yes, Harry. That hasn't slipped my mind. I'm still worried. Why don't you tell us what's really going on?" she tried. 

Harry nodded. He was uneasy, what would his friends think if he told them he was dreaming of Malfoy? Oh well. It was now or never. 

"I've been dreaming of Malfoy," Harry says, and he pauses to see their reactions. As expected; they're both wide-eyed, so he continues. "every night — for the past two weeks, I think." 

"Harry —"

"And it's not just that, they're sensual. And every time I wake there's always a rose. Somewhere in the dorm or the common room for me to gather. And I don't know where they're coming from or who the sender is but I think it's Malfoy," he pauses as if he's intaking a big breath of air. "I think I like Malfoy." 

He feels himself flush as he fails to make eye contact with them, but he looks up as Hermione and Ron just laugh. Why are they laughing? They don't think it's a joke, right? Some silly game he's playing? Harry can't afford the embarrassment but he still says nothing. 

"Oh Harry," Hermione guffaws as she sets aside her tea cup. "you're such a hopeless romantic." 

It was time to put his mood swings to use. "What do you mean, Hermione?" he cried. "Can't you see how stressed I am?" 

Ron wiped his eyes. "Mate, seriously — if you think Malfoy is sending you pretty pink roses, why don't you just go confront him? Bet he'd love that." he winks at Harry, and (if possible) Harry becomes about four shades redder. Obviously he can't do that. 

"Why don't you write to him?" Hermione offers. "Like a love letter?" 

Harry's head begins to form a migraine. He frowns at the intrusive thought. "Hermione, for someone who is at the top of all her classes, that's an absurd idea." he almost laughs at the idea of how sappy that would be, so he leaves to head upstairs back to the dormitory leaving them behind. 

And the realization comes faster than a slap in the face. He's completely, utterly screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter. Big things are coming!!


	7. vivid

Harry glanced over at the trees across from him. There it is. A silhouette. A shadow of a boy with a white head and vivid piercing eyes. 

"You're not real." Harry murmurs. "This is a dream, another dream." 

Draco frowns at him. The view is gorgeous. His hand runs up and down the smooth bristles of the meadow, which withholds a flurry of colours from the familiar parsley and canola to the scent of lavender. He fiddles with his ring for a moment before opening his mouth — then closing it.

"This is more real than you think it is." 

Harry studies Draco. He feels foolish for not realising it sooner. Those first few conversations with Draco, the first few, breaching moments of aggravation and confusion. It somehow seemed far too placid, far too accepting of Harry's sudden appearance in that manner to open up to him. To let himself be kissed. To kiss back. To feel something, feel something he hasn't ever felt before. It makes sense, now, to realise Draco's truly been there there with him — all this time. 

"I want to find you, but I'm scared." Harry says truthfully. But it's not a want. It's a need. "I'm scared to wake up. To wake up and find everything as it was. All black and white." 

Draco stares at Harry for a moment, as if he's studying his features. 

"That's not the way it works," he gives out a light chuckle. He continues speaking as though he hadn't done moments ago. "then again, nothing has ever worked the way you've wanted it to, hasn't it? It's always been —"

"A leap of faith." Harry finishes the sentence for him.

"Now you're getting it, Potter." 

Harry is silent for a long time. Something is starting to click in his head. Everything is evident. It's all put together, all the clues he needs seems to be right in front of him. He just can't seem to find himself. 

Harry wants to say he's changed. He turns to pensiveness as he thinks of young Draco. His earliest years of Hogwarts. Immature, always showing off his wealth and drawing attention to himself. Throwing insults left and right. But now, he's not Malfoy. He's Draco. But it's difficult to explain how something is both the same and different. Harry continues to stare out at the valley, before breaking the silence. 

"Does it take a lot of effort to be here? To be here with me?" he asks, wondering if Draco will suddenly vanish again, or he'll just wake up with it being another dream, or vision. "Are you going to leave again?" he pauses, drawing on the ground with a twig. "I let you in, but it's always gone. You're gone, and nothing in reality seems to change."

Draco's head snaps to him. It's peculiar, nonetheless, as he seems to be giving Harry a look of pure misery. Like his heart had just plummeted before him, and the sinking feeling is back. 

"I never left you, Harry." he cried. "I'm here," Draco pauses. "all of this is for you." 

Something finally clicks within.

"You were... you're sending me the roses?"

He grumbles, but it's soon replaced with a laugh — then a sigh. "You're so fucking naive." 

"All this time? Me?"

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, Draco takes Harry's arm and begins to run his fingertips slowly against the soft skin of his forearm. His hands were cold, but Harry felt too hot. His fingers surfaced up and down until they were completely caressing all of his shoulder and arm.

"It's always been you, Harry," he whispers. There's that tempestuous look in his eyes. 

Harry didn't know how to react nor respond to that. He felt so undeniably stupid. How could he be so dense? So blinded? He had guessed, yes. But he wasn't aware that maybe his suspicions would be accurate. But then it occurred to him. All of those maddening and irritating encounters with Draco — had truly only been an act of desperation. Draco constantly seeked attention, and if he couldn't get it from his father, he'd get it from Harry. One way or another. 

But what really took him off was merely the fact that he'd only seen Draco smile when he was around him. 

Draco takes his hand and places something on Harry's palm. It feels round, indenting. It takes him a moment to realize that Draco has given him his ring. One of his most prized possessions. Draco's hands are clasped on his hand, holding the silver piece of jewelry down.

"I need you to find me, Harry. I need to show you how I feel about you. How much you mean to me." 

Harry tries to call after him — but his voice wavers on the air like someone plucking a metal wire away from a barbed fence. It's too late. As deigned, Draco is suddenly vanishing into thin air, and Harry can already feel his nimble body falling back into consciousness. 

He is gone, or perhaps he was never there. 

Now, it's just apparent. The roses may have been what is given, but what was truly missing, undoubtedly, was Draco Malfoy.


	8. unity

Sunday morning. 

When Harry woke to walk down to open the large door to the Entrance Hall, he would've never expected to see the majority of his housemates waiting on him. It was almost as if they were cheering. He flushed in bewilderment. 

There stood Ron, Hermione, Dean, Seamus, Ginny, Neville, Luna, — you name it — all holding individuals of the same, fuchsia roses that had become very intimate to Harry. It was almost as if it were a part of him. He stood there in shock. More people started to gather around. Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, even the Greengrass sisters all had one clutched in their hands. Harry's heart was racing. Had they all... picked the roses for him? How could they all know? He had only told Ron and Hermione. 

"Ron," he gasped. "what is this?" Harry took the flower in awe, but is seemed almost pointless, as several several others were ceasing to give him one, until he had a full bouquet of fuchsia. 

Ron opened his mouth to answer — however Pansy answered for him.

"Draco never planned this," she began, giving him her rose. "we did. He needs you to find him, Potter. I think he's made that pretty obvious." she smiled, but what truly took him away was the certainty and conviction in her voice. 

"You've done so much for all of us, Harry." Luna added in a gentle voice. "Consider this our way of thanking you." 

Harry stood there frozen. He felt like he was trembling. "But... how do I know this isn't just another dream?" he asked.

Blaise Zabini smirked down at him. 

"Merlin’s beard, Potter. In what dream do we form an alliance with Gryffindor's'? This is all for you." he replied solemnly. 

The wind outside was gentle, but blowing and swaying the trees frantically around like that of a small wind storm. Owls hoot softly. There is the smell of magical creatures in the air. The rustle of feathers, the creak of sun-warmed wood. 

And, as he's learned from this division, both reality and dreams can be found in the smallest details of both a similar way: How Ron and Hermione are looking at him with the most accepting eyes, a smile across the room from Luna — who with the roses appears to be in her element, how the Greengrass sisters are giggling and how Fred and George are giving each other a knowing look. And the faint tremble of his hands and knee jitters. But by now, it's just instinct. He doesn't feel so nervous anymore. Because now he understands everything that he once felt robbed from. Now, everything he needs is there. 

"Potter, he's waiting for you!" someone called, and then another, which made Harry snap back into reality. He clutched the bouquet tighter. 

"How do I know where to find him?" 

Both Hermione and Pansy looked at each other in union; smirking. 

"Oh, you'll know," they said together, and gestured at the rose petals on the ground — leading down the stairs and onto the grass until they were almost hidden from view. 

And giving the everyone one last, grateful and pleased look — Harry deserted, following the rose petals that almost looked as they went on for an eternity. 

"Go get that ferret, mate!" he heard Ron shout from behind him, as many people were cheering him on as he took shaky steps, until they were all far back behind. If Harry looked up, he could see the clouds drifting like vials, reflecting against the refulgent bright orb of the sun. 

Pushing past a few bushes and tree branches, Harry was in the meadowed field. He was taking a few shaky breaths — but all that eased immediately when he felt a pair of arms spin him around.

"Harry,"

And Harry looks up. Green eyes meet a dashing silver. Draco's arms are holding his shoulders, trailing down his arms. He doesn't say anything else, he rather pulls out another rose for Harry to take. 

And that's when Harry realized that Draco wasn't wearing his ring. Harry pulled out his hand.

Draco Malfoy's Slytherin ring was fitted delicately on his ring finger, gleaming from the sun. 

"Y—You," Harry tries to say, but he's too flooded with both awe and astonishment. His heartbeat is frantic.

He stared at Draco as his eyes dilated. 

"Now do you understand, Potter?" he intertwines his hands and squeezes, not once taking his eyes off him. "I've quite literally given you my heart." 

Harry turns to look as the sun is beginning to slip further down into the valley.

"I can't believe I didn't see the signs," he says. 

Draco gives a breathy laugh. "If not Slytherin, definitely not Ravenclaw." 

"I just can't believe it's you," 

"What can I say?" he lifts their joined hands to press a lingering kiss on Harry's hand. "I'm full of surprises." 

Harry smiles. He runs his fingertips in Draco's soft hair. They're just so close together; it's overwhelming.

"Hey you, c'mere." he mutters, and takes Harry's jaw into his hands and lifts him up and kisses him. 

This was reality. Because it always was Draco. It always had been. Now, he felt complete. Nothing was missing anymore, but it was both rather given. 

And now they're laying on the smooth, tall grass of the green canola field. Harry stares at Draco's silhouette for a while, and watches as he turns to glance at the orange and yellow of the horizon that's now breaking dawn. Harry finds himself trying to pinpoint the exact moments he fell in love with Draco Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please share! Cait xx


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